


Ballad of the Sirens

by SinIxto



Series: Ballad of the Sirens [1]
Category: Fandomless
Genre: Original Character(s), Original Mythology, Original Universe, PTSD, Sirens are not fish people, Violence, gentle characters, good feels
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-11
Updated: 2017-05-11
Packaged: 2018-10-30 19:25:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,623
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10883361
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SinIxto/pseuds/SinIxto
Summary: In times of violence, a gentle pacifist does his best to survive and care for the people that he loves. Daunted by memories of his past, and terrified of the implications of his future, Ixto must come to terms with the fact that his life is about to be thrown yet again into chaos.





	Ballad of the Sirens

**Author's Note:**

> You can explore Ixto here: http://ixto.tumblr.com/  
> Learn more about Ixto: http://ixto.tumblr.com/tagged/headcanon  
> The TL;DR version: http://ixto.tumblr.com/about  
> What Ixto looks like: http://68.media.tumblr.com/a38e63d65091746178bcfadbf8d3f91e/tumblr_okpvyp4eVH1tv6q4po1_540.png

The air was putrid, smelling of the wastes of the crevice their camp was rested in. Cliffs surrounded each side, gaping skyward like a treacherous maw. Steep and unyielding, the gorge opened in the pits of the wastelands below the twin volcanoes like an angry scar.  In the midst of the swarming masses Ixto sat, his eyes closed as his sensitive ears twitched this way and that, listening to the individual energy of the living creatures around him. His uniform, designed to withstand the heat in the midst of battle still felt too heavy, too hot, clammy. His house colors, gold, purple, and white had dulled from the abundance of ash that rained through the air as if they were in the midst of a hellish snowstorm.

 

Living life at the base of an active volcano was far from the life he remembered in Itiakhora. Sirens were much more accustomed to sprawling green fields, pink sands, willows, or dense tall forests. They were not suited to the life in the wastelands like the Lava Gliders. He missed the springing gardens, the call of the birds, and the chatter and throng of his kin.  As a soldier though, Ixto didn’t have much choice in his stationing. Nobody did, and the days of peaceful gardens and rolling bright hills had been burned away. Stretched before him it seemed like an eternity he would have to spend fighting, a practice he woefully had a distaste for. Of all the years as a soldier, Ixto had not taken a single life-- though some days he contemplated when his own might be taken.

 

Before the war, he’d relished in lengthy baths, and spreading sweet smelling salve over his pale freckled skin. He’d loved story telling, gardening, singing, and peaceful afternoons with tea and honey cakes. These days he would be lucky if he made it an hour without looking as though he’d changed from calico to panther. He could hardly have a cup of water without swilling the taste of gravel and dust. Even Kyr, his dark skinned, estranged husband looked ashen and grey underneath the constant spew of ash from the active volcano that loomed over their slums. Estranged, but still the two soot-covered soldiers stood shoulder to-- well, elbow. 

 

Kyr was a massive creature of muscle, red eyes, and strength. Though he was a gentle giant, he had an intimidating presence.  In comparison Ixto lived up to his name, feather flower. There was a reason they were the two soldiers left to guard the night. They were a dangerous combination of defense and offence.  And as dawn approached, Ixto could see the light of the three sister suns peek up over the craggy edges of their safe haven. A safe haven in which they could only escape and enter by means of their generous guardians. 

 

Lava Gliders; large beasts made of living stone. Their arachnid bodies towered many trees, with glittering armor made from the material of their mines, and eight scrupulous eyes, they were a subduing foe to any creature they were up against. Their neutrality had been played to the advantage of many, and many Sirens that had been taken captive in the war had been given a home here. It wasn’t glorious, and food was not as rich or as plentiful as it had been in their land, but it far beat the terrible cells and muggy caves they had been kept prisoner for near 200 years. 

 

Ixto shuddered to remember.

 

The more light that shone down on their slum, the more Ixto could wash away the memories of the past. Parched, he stood with unsteady legs, stretching his arms up over his head with a purr rumbling from his chest up into his throat. His eyes burned from the lack of sleep, and his body ached from years without proper rest. How much longer could this seemingly endless battle last?

 

“Go, I will wrap things up from here,” the deep sound of Kyr’s voice caught Ixto’s attention. He smiled faintly and bowed his head in a custom of respect, then departed from Kyr without another word. Nothing else need be said. Not after so many years. Ixto felt as if his feet barely left the ground; his boots scraped along, carrying him toward the direction of the soldier’s tent. 

 

Pushing aside the once white curtains, he stripped away the violet cloak that covered his shoulders, dropping it to the floor. Next came the lightweight white armor, shirt-- but before he could finish undressing, he untied his hair. Long, waving silvery blond hair fell about his face, stained dark by his environment. He sighed wistfully and took a strand between his forefinger and thumb, trying to remember the last time he’d had a chance at any sort of luxury or bath. Ixto wondered if he looked as ragged as he felt. 

 

“Knock knock,” a head poked in through his curtains, freckled caramel skin and dark brown eyes. Prima, his best friend since childhood. Ixto gave her a bright look as she presented him with a loaf of buttered bread. “You got a care package from home, and I thought you wouldn’t mind if I prepared it for you.” 

 

“You are the best,” he whispered, crossing the distance between them to wrap her in a sweaty hug. “I haven’t seen an herb loaf in so long.” Ixto lifted it to his nose and inhaled deeply. Perhaps today would be one of the good days. One of the days where his kind could find joy, sing, share merriment. There were so few of those days. “Share it with me,” he demanded.

 

“I have to get to work,” Prima snorted, shoving his shoulder gently. Ixto winced and ducked his head, instinct making him crumple into himself. The deep scars on his shoulders still felt like they burned and ached, but they would never burn as much as the look of pity on his friend’s face. He had a strong distaste for  feeling so vulnerable, Ixto straightened himself and let his long hair hide the damage that had long healed over from the touch of copper blades.

 

“I’ll walk with you,” he offered, giving her a third of the portions. There would be some for himself, and another third for Kyr, who would be soon coming off duty. His ears shifted frequencies to block out the outrageous howl of the winds that screeched at the top of the cliffs. Younglings covered their sensitive ears, and as he passed them he took count. It seemed like there were less and less of them each time he counted. 

 

Prima didn’t say much, as was her nature. She was a quiet woman, the wild curl of her hair and the dangerous glint in her dark eyes said more than her mouth ever could. Her energy sounded like the crash of water against the shore, a white noise of static that was in stark contrast to the brutality she could exhibit to her enemies. She, too, was taller than him, broader in her shoulders and stronger in hand to hand. A soldier through and through since they were a young 45 years of age.

 

The sunlight soon became clouded by the dull gray of the sky, swallowing it up and casting them into dim shadow, Ixto felt as if his heart had been cast under the very same shadow. He raised his chin in hopes that if he smiled, perhaps he could fool his mind into being happy. For a moment, it seemed to work. He and Prima joined Kyr on the higher path, leading to their outpost. Together, they sat on a craggy ledge and watched their people. Despite the dour circumstances, they still lived, loved, and sang. 

 

From there he sat, Ixto could see a band of younglings practicing their vocals, casting small scale illusions of growing flowers that they had learned about from books of their home. Most of them had been born in this camp, and this was all they had ever known. Ixto felt his heart break for them.

 

“They’re so innocent,” Kyr commented solemnly, though his voice carried a deep affection that he used to speak of all their people. He was so kind, and so genuine he scarcely found anyone who was ready to hate him. Even their enemies had a hard time disliking Kyr, it seemed. But then, that could have been thinly veiled fear of his ominous stature of near 8 ft tall.  “One day they will grow to recognize those flowers outside of those illusions.” He was very confident, almost so sure of himself that Ixto could believe him. Prima shrugged her shoulders, though she too couldn’t hide the grin she wore. 

 

And then, as if time had slowed, a low rumble of thunder could be heard. It rolled just so that the sound could be felt in the shake of the earth, and Ixto brought his gaze upward, toward where a daunting plume of smoke rose from the volcanoes. 

 

“That’s strange,” he whispered, a curious sense of deja vu befalling him. His gut dropped, and part of him felt as though he should be remembering something more than he did. Like part of his mind was fogged and reaching for something-- whatever it was was interrupted by a sound so deafening it drowned out the screams of pain from the Sirens down below, their ears assaulted. Ixto’s throat felt dry, and the buttered bread he’d had in his hands fell away, his round eyes focused on the plume of smoke and ash that roared up from the volcanoes to the north. He strained his vision to see further, dazed too by the sound that had shaken their entire world.

 

The ground underneath them trembled dangerously, and the scent of sulfur drenched the air in a terrible miasma.  The ground shook notoriously as the three tried to get to their feet, their senses thrown off by the array of noise around them. Through the cacophony of crashing stone, spitting fire in the distance, and the walls around them beginning to crumble, Ixto could hear the sounds of his people shrieking for help. 

 

Ixto’s attention was drawn to the Lava gliders on the edges of the cliffs, looking down upon them not as saviors, but as if the Sirens were now livestock for the slaughter. Younglings squealed, sobbing, with their tiny hands reaching up to the stone guardians they had once known as gentle creatures of good will. Their naivety kept them from seeing the truth; these people were not here to save them, but to damn them. Ixto could feel his breath caught in his chest, staring at thousands of hands reaching skyward, the voices that belonged to them crushed by the roar of the volcanoes as they cried for help.

 

Those desperate enough began climbing the walls, and the soldiers, including Prima and Kyr began helping as many as they could begin to scale upward. Their hopes were soon dashed as a large boulder came flying down from the surface, catching a young Queen in the face, her protruding, pregnant stomach making it hard for her to climb. As the boulder made contact with her, Ixto was glad the sound of the volcano drowned out the sound of her neck snapping. 

 

She landed beneath the boulder, her head crushed into pulpy mulch that spattered the ashen ground. Ixto felt the contents of his stomach relieve into the dust, clutching over his chest as if that would help him. He had seen atrocities in the hundreds of years of war, but it never made the impact of death less terrible, less traumatizing. Ixto let out a scream of anguish, spittle dripping from his chin into the dust. 

 

More Sirens were cast off the cliff face by falling and thrown debris; he could see from where he was frozen, those that had not had their heads crushed, their healing process had kicked in, and their wounds melted away. The true horror of their situation fell on him, and Ixto began to move. As he began to run, a terrible light came over the edge of the cliffs; heat and smoke poured through the camp as Ixto scrambled to find as many younglings as he could, desperately trying to get his people to higher ground. Why was this happening? Why had the Lava Gliders turned on them after spending so much time saving them?

 

There would be so many unanswered questions to come from that day. The sickening sound of his people using their full thunderous voices, screaming for aid, hoping and praying to some kind fate that someone would save them. Ixto lost count of the smaller bodies he lifted up onto higher ledges, staring on at horror as their tents and homes burned. The little that they had was wiped away, and not even their tears could wash away the thick dust on their cheeks. Ixto looked frantically for his husband, his best friend. Once he was certain he’d gotten as many younglings onto the cliffs in sheltered areas as he could, he left them to look for his friends. 

 

Not a minute did he have his back turned when he heard the sounds of Lava Gliders making their way down the wall. Ixto reached fruitlessly for his blade, using as much power in his voice to keep them away-- but they were sturdier, and not as affected by sound as some others would have been. About to charge into battle to save the children he’d hidden, Ixto felt the wind get knocked out of him as a strong hand wrapped around his torso, squeezing. 

His ribs threatened to give way, creaking under the pressure as his vision blurred. Ixto kicked, clawed, and hissed to no avail, the overwhelming sounds around him taking their toll and causing his head to swim. The last thing he saw before dark clouds blasted out the valley were the Lava Gliders throwing the innocent into the pools of glowing death below. 

 

When his senses came back to him from the wash of anguish and terror, Ixto could taste the fresh air from the wind, feel a warm arm around his middle, and hear a familiar energy cocooning him from the crescendo of horror below. Ixto dared to open his eyes, unaware of how tightly he’d had them squeezed shut.

 

He stared at the sky, hands lifting shakily to cover his ears. The sound below them from the tower they’d been whisked off to [Prima, Kyr, and himself] looked over the gourge below. The sounds of thousands of collective Sirens, with voices with power unparalleled in sound, bellowed into the heavens. They would die a thousand burning deaths before their immortal bodies would be trapped in stone, choking on the dust that filled their lungs. Ixto could do not but look into the eyes of his husband and weep. 

 

They had known that there would be some fates in their world worse than death, and because of his friend, one lonely Lava Glider named Sheesa, Ixto would live to remember that for thousands, that fate would be known for eternity. 

 

So he screamed, he opened his mouth and cried out his torment.

 

And then, miraculously the sky split, and Ixto could feel a rawness in his throat as he shot straight up. His whole body quaked as he leaned over the edge of his bed to vomit onto the floor, weeping helplessly as he clutched his blanket, damp from sweat and urine. It was a nightmare-- a memory, but a nightmare all the same. A nightmare from a long time ago that would be recorded in the Ballad of the Sirens as The Day of Ashes.

 


End file.
